


How Does Your Garden Grow

by Ithiliana



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithiliana/pseuds/Ithiliana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>In Ithilien, in the "afterwards" of <i>The Fall of the Steward</i> where I set all my happy Frodo/Faramir ficlets.</p>
    </blockquote>





	How Does Your Garden Grow

**Author's Note:**

> In Ithilien, in the "afterwards" of _The Fall of the Steward_ where I set all my happy Frodo/Faramir ficlets.

Frodo pushed the door open, so tired and sore he could barely move. "Ohhhh," he moaned, as he hobbled in, leaving the door open behind him. 

How did Sam do it, he wondered, remembering how his friend used to work all day in the garden, eat a hearty meal, and then walk to the Green Dragon to drink and talk while watching Rosie. Then, Sam would wake up the next day and do it all again without a single complaint.

Frodo was filthy. He smelled of sweat and dirt and sap. He was bleeding from thorns, and his pants and shirt were torn.

The front room which was their dining and work room was dark and silent. Faramir must still be at the Hall. He had complained at breakfast about having to spend all day indoors, going over reports and lists and meeting with the representatives of the guilds and tradespeople. Frodo had felt rather smug because he could spend the warm spring day outside, putting a secret plan into practice. 

He was going to create a garden.

Ithilien was too far south, sheltered by the mountains, nourished by the warm winds from the Sea, to have snow, but the last few weeks had seen a change that Frodo had welcomed. Green smells, more hours of daylight, the sense of a warming of earth and air, new growth, had all thrilled and inspired him. What better way to mark their new home than by making a garden? 

He and Bilbo had always worked alongside Sam, and Frodo was familiar with plants and how to tend them. He knew that the plants in Ithilien would be different, but there were many in the settlement whose families had once lived here who could advise him. Anborn had not only taught him the names of new shrubs and plants, warning him against several whose leaves or thorns were poisonous, but had cut down some gardening tools so Frodo could easily use them. The re-made shovel, rake, hoe, and clippers had been delivered while Faramir was away and had been waiting in the shed for their first use.

Wincing, Frodo inched across to the door which led to their bedroom. He should clean himself, he knew. He would feel better. But he could not face the work of building up the fire, heating water, and washing. Maybe after he rested a while. 

The soft bed seemed very far away and much higher than he remembered from this morning. He set his teeth and began the long journey. One painful step at a time. His feet hurt. His legs hurt. His back hurt. His shoulders hurt. His arms hurt. His sides under his arms hurt. 

As he reached the bed and began to haul himself, slowly and painfully up onto the soft surface, Frodo thought that even his hair hurt. He collapsed, face down, and sighed. 

The garden had been so easy to imagine. He just hadn't realized how hard it would be to clear a space for it amidst the riotous growth of Ithilien.

He had done as much as he could today. He just needed to rest. A few moments. 

* * *

"Frodo! **Frodo**!"

"What?"

Frodo rolled over on his side, and froze, groaning. He was stiff and even sorer than earlier. He hadn't thought it possible.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Faramir bent over Frodo, running his hands over him.

Normally, Frodo would have enjoyed that. Now, it just hurt.

"Not hurt, just OW, sore." Faramir had pressed too hard on Frodo's side.

"How? What happened?"

Cautiously, Frodo managed to turn onto his back and look at Faramir who was sitting next to him, looking worried. The light in the room was much dimmer than it had been earlier, and Frodo wondered how late it was.

"I was working outside, trying to clear a space for a garden."

"Ah. I see." 

Faramir smoothed the hair off Frodo's forehead who wondered if the quirk at the corner of that very expressive mouth meant sympathy or suppressed laughter. 

"Wait here, love."

Frodo winced as Faramir rose and the bed bounced.

Closing his eyes, Frodo waited. Then waited some more. Perhaps he dozed for when he opened his eyes, the candles had been lit, and Faramir was carrying two large and steaming buckets into the room. He set them down next to the bed. He'd stripped off his tunic and boots and was wearing only his shirt and leggings.

"Let's get you undressed."

Sliding an arm under Frodo's shoulders, Faramir helped him sit, then unbuttoned his shirt and eased it off his shoulders and arms. It was harder to get the trousers off, and Faramir finally just lifted Frodo up and out after unbuttoning them. Setting Frodo down beside the bed, Faramir held up the stained, torn clothing.

"I hate to think what Ioreth is going to say," he said.

The light from the candles clearly showed his smile this time, and Frodo winced. During the first months of the settlement, everyone had agreed that cooking and cleaning as well as building was best done communally, and Ioreth had taken charge of organizing all the groups who did cooking and cleaning. The wash tubs were too large for Frodo, so he tended to work more on the cooking crews. But he'd heard some of Ioreth's lectures to the men.

"They're my oldest," he pointed out. 

"True. And no doubt you'll be wearing them only for gardening in the future. But not tomorrow."

Frodo nodded fervently as Faramir tossed the dirty clothing over the bench, then rubbed the back of his neck which ached.

"You have twigs and leaves in your hair."

Frodo ran his fingers through his hair, tugging, and saw debris fall. 

Faramir pulled out a few more twigs, then said, "Stand in here."

Carefully, Frodo stepped into the tub they used for bathing. Faramir rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt then picked up one of the buckets and poured warm water over him. Frodo sighed. It felt wonderful, and even more so when Faramir knelt to soak a washing cloth in the water, worked up a generous lather of the lavender soap they'd brought from Minas Tirith and began gently washing Frodo. 

Closing his eyes, Frodo enjoyed the sensation of the soft cloth moving over his skin, face and neck, smoothing over his shoulders and down his chest and belly. 

"Can you raise your arms?"

Frodo did, slowly, and felt the warmth moving around his trunk, up and down his right side, back, and left side, the fresh scent and softness wiping away tiredness as well as dirt and sap. 

"Mmmmm."

Faramir slid an arm around Frodo's waist, steadying him. "Lift your legs, one at a time." 

Frodo did, and Faramir washed first one, then the other. The cloth rasped pleasantly over the hair that grew thickly on his feet.

"There. Stand still."

The cloth and Faramir's arm lifted away, and Frodo shivered a little, the evening air cool on his damp skin. 

"This water's hotter than the first."

Good, Frodo thought, and took a deep breath, holding it while Faramir slowly poured a stream of hot water over his head. The heat soaked into sore muscles. Frodo was sorry when the bucket was empty, but then a soft drying cloth was wrapped around him, and he was lifted to lie on the bed, warmly wrapped from head to toe.

Luxuriating in the sensation of cleanliness, Frodo lay still, listening to footsteps punctuated by the occasional clank. 

When Faramir returned and began drying him, Frodo stretched out under his hands, enjoying the movement of the firm hands over his body and limbs. When he was rubbed dry, Faramir turned him over to lie on his belly and unwrapped him. Warm and tingling, Frodo waited, expectant.

He was not disappointed.

Hands smoothed ointment over his skin and clever fingers began massaging his neck at the sorest spot, then moved out over his shoulders. The soft pressure increased as Faramir worked his way down then up Frodo's back, stopping to knead firmly whenever Frodo made a sound. He stretched his arms over his head. Faramir's hands worked their way down Frodo's sides, moving in circles.

"Oh, yes. There."

Until today, Frodo hadn't even know there were muscles there, but straining to force the clippers through some of the larger branches had left him sore and aching under his arms. The ache increased as Faramir worked, but then subsided, leaving Frodo limp and happy.

"Enough?"

Frodo sighed, happily, and said, "For now." He turned his head and opened his eyes, seeing Faramir sitting next to him, golden light from the candles striking red gleams in his gold hair, shining through the thin white shirt he wore, open at the neck. Frodo felt a new warmth building inside him.

"Do you need anything else? Are you hungry? I could go fetch--"

Frodo rose on one arm, reaching out to run his other hand over Faramir's, gleaming from the oil he had used, up under the shirt sleeve.

"You could get undressed and come to bed so I could thank you properly," he said, smiling.

"You are feeling better." 

Nodding, Frodo watched as Faramir pulled his shirt off, tossing it onto the floor, and stood to unlace his leggings, pulling them down hastily, sliding onto the bed beside Frodo, wrapping his arms around him.

Wriggling happily closer, Frodo sank his hands deep in the thick redgold hair and leaned over Faramir to kiss him. Pulling back after a long, sweet moment, Frodo said, his lips moving against Faramir's, "You know what I was thinking?"

"Hmmm?"

"You probably have been spending too much time inside and need to get out more."

Faramir's laughter resonated through Frodo. "Gardening you mean?"

"Umm-hmmm," Frodo said, beginning to kiss his way down Faramir's chest.


End file.
